Big ow.

Isabel Evans moaned and tried to curl in on herself in her misery, but something got in the way. She whimpered and wiggled her foot. That was about the extent of the movement she was capable of at the moment.

"Max, stop the music," she whined incoherently, and grimaced at the dry, gritty feel of her own tongue. Why couldn't she move? She opened her left eye a crack and groggily took in a wall. A gray wall, and therefore not her wall. She made another helpless noise and opened her other eye.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, and winced at the volume of her voice. Ohh, that light was no good. Somebody should turn it off. She lifted her head to try to see why it was that she couldn't move and instantly regretted it.

"Ohhhhhh, no. Uhhh, this isn't good. Nope," she grumbled as she tried to stop the feeling of the room spinning and her head pounding. It wasn't working. Why wasn't it working? Why couldn't she move? What in the world did she drink last night? A more insistent whining noise pushed itself past her lips and she wiggled experimentally. She was on a bed. Bed, gray wall… still not ringing any bells. As consciousness returned to her incrementally, she became aware of other things. She was naked, that was unusual and probably not good considering the person spooning her.

Person?!

Summoning her shock-fueled strength, she sat up abruptly and paled as her stomach turned over. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she opened her eyes slowly, turning them down to the person in bed with her.

"Fuck," she grunted, and clumsily staggered out of bed and to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

**********

Michael Guerin groaned at the sudden noise and the movement of the bed.

"Ugh," he muttered, and climbed out of bed, pulling on a pair of discarded boxers. The beginnings of confusion tickled his brain, since he usually slept with his boxers on. Shaking his head slightly, he padded into the kitchen to get some aspirin. This hangover was a bitch.

"What did I do last night?" he wondered aloud before washing down two white pills with a glass of water. He got halfway to the refrigerator before a strange noise stopped him in his tracks. It sounded like someone was puking in his bathroom. Ever paranoid, he hefted the wooden baseball bat that he always kept beside the refrigerator onto his shoulder before slowly creeping to the bathroom door. As he got closer, his face screwed up in disgust. Yep, someone was definitely puking in there. He couldn't remember bringing anyone home with him from the party… hell, he didn't remember coming home from the party at all. He hazarded a glance behind him and cursed at seeing his front door ajar. Man, he wasn't going to be drinking like that for a good long time. He turned his attention back to the bathroom door, where the noises had ceased in the last few seconds. He braced his back on the wall just next to the door and relaxed his hold on the bat. In his state last night, he could have brought Alex home with him and thought it was… a girl. He swallowed roughly as a mental image of Isabel in a half-undressed stage popped into his mind. No. Think about Maria, man. He felt a twinge of guilt then, and changed his mind. Okay, just think about mud. There you go. Since the retching noises hadn't resumed, he slowly pushed open the bathroom door, peering through the crack. Woah!

Michael leaned back against the wall again. That was a naked chick. A naked chick who was definitely not Maria. He cleared his throat.

"Um… hello?" he queried, mentally kicking himself. Who else was at that party?

Isabel's head shot up at Michael's voice, and her heart started pounding in her throat as she blushed madly, surveying her nude state.

"Go away!" she exclaimed, searching for something to cover herself with. Why didn't Michael keep shirts in the bathroom? Max left his in there all the time.

Michael forgot to breathe as Isabel's unmistakable voice met his ears. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Are… are you okay?" he asked lamely, trying to find the words to fix this. None came.

"Of course not!" Isabel barked, wiping tears off her cheeks. Michael's heart twisted as he heard her start to cry. Against his better judgement, he pushed the door the rest of the way open and turned the corner, gasping as he saw her again. He thought that she'd at least have put a towel on by now.

"Oh, sorry…" he managed, as he looked around wildly for an escape.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Isabel screeched, grabbing a bath towel off of the shower rod and wrapping it around herself. "Did I say 'come in'?"

"I…"

"Get out!" she screamed.

"Isabel-"

"GET OUT!" Michael turned around and beat it back to the bedroom, hearing the bathroom door slam behind him and Isabel's slew of very creative swearing.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, trying to find a punishment for himself that would make him feel any better, and failing. What was he thinking last night? What was she thinking? What was Max gonna do to them? At that thought, he froze and decided not to think about it just then, lest he get sick himself. He hurriedly pulled some jeans and a t-shirt on and sat down heavily on the bed, cradling his aching head in his hands. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard Isabel's voice again, raspy from crying.

"Michael… I need some clothes," she called out sullenly. He sighed and stood, looking around the floor at the discarded clothing. He didn't think that Isabel would be too comfortable in the skirt she had been wearing last night, and that shirt… well, suffice it to say that it was headed for the garbage can. Man, had *he* ripped it like that? Shaking his head, Michael rummaged through his tiny, cluttered closet and pulled out a pair of drawstring-waisted sweatpants and one of his t-shirts. He hastily added the lacy black bra that was lying on the floor to the clothing in his arms, a heated flush spreading over his skin as he imagined it on her. Mud. Mud. She muttered some words of thanks as he placed the clothes over the slender arm sticking out of the crack in the door. He tried really hard not to look at the reflection she was casting in the mirror behind her. When she shut the door again, Michael let out the breath he'd been holding and trudged back to the kitchen. He might as well make this as comfortable as it could possibly be.

**********

Isabel opened the bathroom door and cautiously stepped out into the apartment, feeling much more herself after washing her face and brushing her teeth with an unwrapped toothbrush she found in the medicine cabinet. She made a mental note to replace it. She glanced to the left, a strange heat filling her as she took in the sight of the unmade bed. Blushing, she turned to the right and saw Michael sitting at the kitchen counter. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders to go face the music.

"Hi," she ventured uneasily.

"Hey," Michael responded, looking carefully at anything but her face.

"So, um…" Isabel trailed off, wringing her hands nervously in front of her.

"Want some coffee?" Michael gestured to the steaming mug on the countertop, and Isabel snatched it up, a ghost of a smile flitting across her lips.

"Thanks. Needed that," she breathed as she let the hot, bitter liquid warm her insides and clear her head marginally. "So, do you…"

"Isabel," Michael said in a warning tone of voice, but Isabel plowed ahead.

"Do you remember anything?" she let out in a rush, unsure of which answer she really wanted to hear.

"No," came the soft reply, and she looked up to see him staring into his coffee. "You?"

"No, nothing," she repeated in a low voice, and Michael nodded slightly.

"Then I guess… we can just forget about this?" At that, Isabel looked him square in the face.

"Forget about this? Forget about this?! Just how in the hell do you plan on forgetting something like this?!" she shrilled, slamming her coffee mug down on the counter.

"Well, I should think it would be fairly easy to forget something you don't even remember!" he shot back angrily.

"What's your point, Michael?" she interrogated him further.

"I don't know, what's your point, Isabel?" he mocked her.

"I guess my point, Michael, is that I don't think I'm going to forget waking up naked in your bed any time soon!" she screamed before she could think about what she was saying. Once said, both of them looked hastily away from each other.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Isabel whispered, and Michael nodded. "So… you… really want to forget this ever happened?" she managed, chewing on her lower lip nervously, and he held her gaze.

"Isn't that what you want?" he countered, and she huffed in frustration, throwing her hands in the air.

"Does it matter? I just want to know what you think we should do here," she said in a strained voice.

"Well, why do I have to think of something?" he gruffed.

"Michael, I just asked you a simple yes-or-no question," Isabel wearily replied.

"Well, maybe the question isn't as simple as you think," he said guardedly, stirring his coffee absently with his index finger.

"I just want to know what you want!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, how am I supposed to know what I want until I know what you want?" he asked defensively, and Isabel's mouth dropped open incredulously.

"What does the one thing have to do with the other?" she asked, truly aggravated.

"Everything!" he cried, waving his hands about.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Isabel asked pointedly, putting her hands on her hips.

"What do you think it means?" Michael queried, standing up.

"Why are you evading me?!?" Isabel yelled.

"Why are you trying to pin me down?!?" he howled back, and she flinched away from him. Immediately contrite, he reached out his hand to her gently, and sank back into his chair defeatedly when she held a hand up to block him. A long, heavy silence ensued, one that neither occupant of the tiny kitchen wanted to break. When Isabel finally did, her voice was no more than the smallest of whispers and Michael had to lean forward, straining his ears to catch it.

"Because… because I'm scared, Michael." He regarded her blankly for a moment before reaching out in slow motion to take one of her trembling hands in his own larger one, sandwiching it with his hands to try to ease the involuntary tremors.

"Scared of what, Isabel?" he asked softly, and she pulled her hand free to swipe at the sudden tears on her face.

"I'm scared of everything, Michael. Everything and everyone. I'm scared that I won't live to see my 20th birthday. I'm scared that I will. I'm scared of hurting people, I'm scared of myself, of who I was, who I am, who I will be. I'm scared to be Vilandra, but I'm scared to be Isabel, too. I'm scared of Max, which seems stupid, but I am. I'm scared that he'll leave us, that he'll decide that Liz Parker is more important than anything else in the world, and that he'll hate the word 'destiny' because of what it means for him and hate me too… because my destiny is what I've always wanted, even before I knew it had that name." Throughout her wavering speech, Michael had remained silent, looking down at his hands, and he finally looked up at her now. He looked directly into her streaming eyes and tried to digest everything she was saying.

"You're the only person I can still count on, Michael. Sometimes I feel like I don't even know Max anymore; he's changed so much and he hardly tells me anything anymore. I can't lose that. I can't lose you, not now, not for something that I selfishly want for myself. More than anything else, I'm scared of what that look in your eyes means. I don't think I could stand it if it means that I disgust you now, that you don't ever want to speak to me again, and that I'm going to be left all alone-" Michael stopped her near-hysterical ramblings by pressing his lips softly to hers. In her shock, she hadn't even noticed his resumed standing position, and she kept her eyes open, wildly searching his peaceful face for reservation or distaste and finding neither. When he slid his mouth over hers slightly from side to side, her eyes dropped closed and she lost herself in the delicious sensation. When his lips finally released hers, he pressed their foreheads together, holding tightly to her waist as her breath hitched in and out unsteadily.

"Isabel, open your eyes," he instructed her calmly, and she obeyed, tiny sparkling tear fragments hovering on her lashes as she stared directly into his stormy gray eyes. What she saw in them took her breath away… she saw the echoes of her confusion and fear there, but also trust and love. It gave her a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach to see him looking at her that way, in a way that she'd never really seen him look at anyone before. She was unable to look away as he continued.

"You…will…never…lose me. Do you understand?" Isabel nodded hesitantly, and Michael sighed lightly. In that moment, she did. She really did understand, and deep down, she always had. She understood that there was not a single thing she could do that would ever make Michael look at her in disgust. She couldn't say anything bad enough to make him stop speaking to her, and looking into those turbulent eyes, she thought she knew why.

"Michael…" she began huskily, and cleared her throat.

"What?"

"Why?" A small frown appeared between his eyebrows in confusion.

"Why what?" Isabel hesitated before answering, trying to find the words. She lifted her right hand tentatively from his bicep to his face, tracing the full line of his lips with one sculpted fingernail.

"Why… why won't I lose you?" she whispered, and Michael gathered her close to him, resting his cheek on her shoulder. She sensed his reluctance to say it aloud, and Isabel supposed she had lit upon his great fear. She enfolded his broad shoulders in her arms, her fingers twining in the soft hair at the nape of his neck and took two shuffling steps backwards, so that she was supporting some of his weight and leaning them against the counter. "I know it scares you, too," she murmured in his ear, "but I need to hear it. I need it, Michael," she explained, the knowledge of what she was prepared to initiate rattling her to the core should he answer the way she wanted him to. She rocked him slightly, feeling him raise his mouth to her ear.

"Because I love you, Isabel."

The words were barely audible, even at such close proximity, like the barest puff of cool breeze on her face in a dead, sweltering heat. Ephemeral as clouds, the words were gone as soon as they came, but Isabel knew that they would chime like the sweetest music in her dreams for as long as dreams still came. Tears of a very different nature stood in her eyes, not falling, and the two held each other for stretches of time, simply soaking up the comfort that the other gave in the face of the manifestation of their deepest terrors and most heartfelt wishes in such a confusing space of minutes.

"I meant it, Michael," Isabel stated, breaking into his reverie, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze. "When I said that I'd always be here for you? That I'd always come for you, whenever you needed me? I meant that." Michael nodded dumbly, unable for the moment to speak. Caressing his face, Isabel leaned in for another kiss, beginning chaste at first, and then slowly deepening as the turbulent emotions inside of her slowly gave way to desire. She moved back after a time, placing feather-light kisses along his lips and jawbone, and finally stepping out of the circle of his arms and shushing his small whimper of protest with the tip of her index finger over his mouth. He stepped forward again, reaching for her, and she retreated further towards the door, laughing silently at his impatience.

"Iz-"

"Shhhhhh," she admonished lightly, before crossing her arms in front of her and pulling the hem of Michael's oversized t-shirt over her head, leaving her in the only the odd juxtaposition of Michael's ratty sweatpants and her black lace bra. She stood for a moment in the doorway, holding the t-shirt shyly to her stomach, at the same time needing to and not wanting to look up at him. After a few seconds, she decided she couldn't bear it any longer and let her eyes roam up his figure from the floor to the top of his head, gasping lightly at the evidence of his arousal against his jeans and feeling decidedly faint once she met his eyes. The combination of utter vulnerability and unvarnished hunger in them turned all her insides into molten heat before she could blink. Isabel inhaled deeply and raggedly, suddenly not able to get enough oxygen in her lungs as Michael stalked slowly over to her. She hesitated, perplexed, when he gently took the shirt from her hands.

"Michael-" She finished that thought with a gasp as he slung the t-shirt around her waist, using it to draw her roughly into him, letting her feel his hardness against her stomach.

"Do you want this, Isabel?" he asked with a quiet intensity that he really didn't feel… inside, he felt like his organs had somehow all traded places with each other and gotten stuck somewhere in the middle. The meaning behind his words was unmistakable; 'this' was everything, not just the physical chapter in this moment of intimacy, but all the things associated with it. Michael would never hide, would never sneak around, and would declare publicly to any and all interested parties that he and Isabel were in a serious relationship, and he would accept no less from her. There was no way that he would take anything less than total commitment to this, and if she wasn't sure… well, then she supposed she had better put that shirt back on, collect the shreds of her dignity, and walk out of that door forever. The tall blonde drew herself up to her full height, wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body right back into his and answered in a full and steady affirmative:

"Yes."

A rush of air left Michael's lungs as his mouth once again descended on Isabel's, their tongues warring with each other in a clash of passion and desperation. She moaned into his mouth, the palms of her hands flat on both of the hallway walls as Michael walked her backwards into the bedroom again so she wouldn't fall. When Isabel's knees hit the edge of the bed, he stopped walking, just enjoying the soft slide of her lips against his and the warm, soft skin of her sides and back under his calloused hands. An idea crept into his mind, and he took her hips in his hands, guiding her into the middle of the small area of empty space at the foot of his bed and stepped back from her, just taking time to let his eyes roam over her, memorizing the way she looked in that moment. A delectable flush stole over her skin at his perusal and she tried to draw her arms in over her body, but Michael stopped her.

"No," he stated simply, his voice rough with repressed desire. He gently took her hands in his, walking himself in so that her arms were outstretched before guiding them to drape over the soft tangle of her blonde hair. He then let his hands glide down over her upper arms, barely brushing the outside curve of her breasts before skimming down over her sides and drawing little circles above the waistline of the sweatpants she wore. Isabel let out a little croon before realizing that he was waiting for her to open her eyes and look at him. She obeyed and looked deep into those deep gray pools as he slowly brought his hands back up her sides to cup her breasts through the raspy lace that covered them. A high trilling escaped her throat at the rush of heat that swept through her at the contact. He continued to tease them, testing their weight in his palms and tracing their contours, gently exploring. Isabel began to gulp in air, breathless in anticipation of what would come next. This was so different from everything she had ever experienced before; none of her previous boyfriends had ever touched her like this, were ever able to make her feel so insane with want in all their frantic pawing and groping. With the lightest of touches, Michael was able to make her feel like her emotions were too large to fit into her skin, like the sensations she was feeling would tear her apart and leave her in pieces on the floor. When he finally zeroed in on her nipples, a sharp cry escaped her lips and her knees buckled without warning. Allowing one hand to leave her chest, he supported the small of her back with his strong forearm, half-carrying her back to the bed and setting her gently on it. Events began to pass in a haze of fevered touches, thirsty kisses, and renewed discoveries. Last remnants of clothing were removed with awe and dropped to the floor, forgotten. Isabel felt completely safe, completely herself, and for whatever it was worth at the moment, completely unafraid; and as his manhood entered her, she felt completely fulfilled, completely loved, complete. They moved together slowly, reverently, taking time to touch and see and wonder at what they had found within the circle of their bodies. They were home. They saw stars more brilliant than any they would find in the night sky and knew that whatever lay ahead, this would be forever and forever and would always be enough to get them through all the bullshit and the lies and the hiding and the running and the fear. As they rose to meet each other again and again, slick with sweat and tears, they clung to each other, crying out their releases to the empty apartment, the bare gray walls, and the sunlight that filtered through the dingy curtains.

The two alien teens lay together for long, languid moments, searching souls by way of smiles, gentle caresses and words left unsaid. They drifted off into sleep seconds or hours later, each carrying a little more light inside of them, and wearing New Year's resolutions printed on their hearts.